


grief

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, The Ending Is Ambiguous, Violent Thoughts, a little ooc? maybe, gratuitous kissing, obligatory 11/20 fic, spoilers obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: deep-hearted man, express grief for thy dead in silence like to death—most like a monumental statue set in everlasting watch and moveless woe till itself crumble to the dust beneath.





	grief

**Author's Note:**

> based on the poem by emily barrett browning

“What are you thinking about?”

Goro’s finger falls upon Akira’s forehead. With tenderness unfamiliar to him, he brushes away the boy’s curly bangs and touches the skin beneath, stalling there. Akira is warm and slick with sweat, a testimony to the passion they’d exchanged only minutes ago. Goro sees rather than feels himself press against the center of Akira’s forehead with the pad of his finger.

 _Here,_ he thinks. Here is where the bullet will bury itself in Akira Kurusu’s skull. As he trails his fingers downward, he brushes them against Akira’s eyelids, the boy’s lashes fluttering in response to it. And here is where the lights of Akira’s eyes will dim, be dull and wide with shock. He cups Akira’s cheeks, thinks about how the pretty flush on his cheeks will be drained from his skin. And then he thinks about how much he wants to kiss Akira Kurusu.

“Kiss me,” he says at last, and Akira laughs, leaning in to press his lips against Goro’s. He lets his thoughts be drowned out by the pressure of Akira’s fingers on his jaw, the warmth of his skin against his, the wetness of his tongue in his mouth. He thinks, _This would be a fine way to die._ Drowned in kisses, killed by kindness. It’s romantic, if nothing else.

Then Goro tastes the tang of blood in his mouth, and his stomach immediately turns with nausea. Pulling away quickly, he sees the cut on Akira’s bottom lip—a distant remnant of their lovemaking—and pretends that his heart doesn’t drop into his stomach at the sight of it. Akira’s blood evokes feelings hard and unforgiving in his gut.

_Akira’s blood, trickling down his forehead._

_Akira’s blood, pooling onto the ground.._

_Akira’s blood, staining his hands—_

“So this entire time you were admiring my face,” Akira says with a smug smirk, shattering the image like glass. He regards Goro’s confused expression with amusement and brushes away the fringe on his cheeks. “If you wanted another round, you could have said so.”

Stubbornly, Goro ignores that, instead burying his face into Akira’s neck. He doesn’t want to see his face, to be reminded of what’s going to zip right through it. He simply sighs and wraps his arms around Akira’s waist, pulling him close. He’s still sticky and smells a little strange but it feels good, feels _intimate._ As if they’re melting together, merging into one being.

“I won’t be seeing you after this, will I?”

The reality sticks hard in his throat, like a knife. Akira’s, too, if his sigh is anything to go by. Tightening his grip on Goro’s neck, he cards his fingers through Goro’s hair and allows the silence that sinks in to answer that for him.

Goro shuts his eyes in hopes it will stymie the tears gathering behind them. How selfish of him to use Akira like this—to wedge him into his life, only to cut him out once he can no longer fit in the picture. He once thought he could live with loss, but now, the thought harrows him. Is it too much to have that which he prays for every night?

But he prayed for his mother and she was taken from him. He prayed for a good childhood and that was taken from him.

He prays for Akira’s company and soon, that will be taken from him, too.

“I love you,” he whispers offhandedly, into the crook of Akira’s neck. Akira shifts, rubbing his hand down the length of Goro’s spine.

“I love you too. Can’t we stay together?”

Goro sighs. Unable to speak, he just shakes his head.

“Why not?” Akira asks, frowning. There couldn’t possibly be any way to properly answer that, so Goro doesn’t even try. He lifts his chin and nudges his nose against Akira’s, content to press their foreheads together and breathe in the space between them.

“You know just as well as I do.” Goro brushes the hair out of his eyes.

Akira, nuzzling their noses together, pouts his lips and doesn’t argue. And, oh—if only they could stay like this forever. If only that damned bullet would enter _Goro’s_ forehead, too. Goro bites his lower lip hard, and tries to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Akira murmurs, heartbreakingly earnest, and Goro’s throat draws tight in sorrow. Goro kisses him again—deep, searching, loving—hopes to communicate what he can’t put into words. _You won’t be leaving me,_ he thinks. _You’re in my heart. I’m never going to let you go. You’ll be in me, always._

Lies, upon lies, upon lies.

Akira turns them over so that Goro is splayed beneath him and Akira pins him to the bed. When Goro meets his gaze, he finds that it is watery with unshed tears, and it urges something strong and bitter to emerge from his lungs. He feels it weigh down on him, feels Akira’s own presence loom over his form like the water that drowns people in its depths. Akira says, “Don’t leave me.”

Goro opens his mouth but finds he can’t speak.

Seizing this opportunity, Akira smatters kisses over his lips, down his neck and to his collarbones where old hickies remain painted into his skin. “I love you,” he says between breaths, between each peck and bite that leave Goro gasping with pleasure. “Don’t leave me,” he says again, fingers digging into Goro’s scalp.

Goro says nothing and lets him have it all—in another timeline, he would have given Akira his entire being. But now Akira can only have the physical manifestation of it, the lean body and silky hair and smiling eyes that hide something uglier underneath them. Goro wraps his legs around Akira’s waist and pulls him closer, closer, until they’re flush together and Goro can feel Akira’s heartbeat hammering against his. He seeks Akira’s lips and Akira offers it to him.

_I need him._

Goro fights back tears but can’t stifle his hiccup anyways.

 _I need him. I need him, I need him, I need him_ —

“Please,” Akira whimpers as he pulls away, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to let you go, I—I _need_ you, Goro.” He leans his forehead against Goro’s again, this time pressing down so hard it almost hurts.

“You can have me,” Goro speaks, without really thinking. He’s too busy relishing in Akira’s lips latching to his throat, likely on his way to leaving new marks.

 _You can have me, but I can’t have you,_ he thinks, through the haze in his mind.

“And that’s all I need.” There’s a possessive bite to it, a kind of rebellious anger that makes heat bloom in Goro’s chest. “Stay.”

With a shuddering breath, Goro winds his arms around Akira’s neck, fingers clutching at the hairs curling up from his nape. The cold winter air closes in on them as the blankets slip from their skin and Akira takes him, flesh and all, once more.

Once more.

Eventually, night crawls into day. Goro stares up at the ceiling, counting the minutes. Akira is warm against his back. The clock is loud in the silence. Goro’s pulse thrums in his ears.

And yet—thankfully—he doesn’t feel anything at all.

 

* * *

 

He remembers that moment when his finger’s on the trigger.

Akira is sitting in front of him with those same eyes—pleading, guiltless, loving. He’s bruised and beaten and Goro thinks with fleeting indignation, _How dare they._ But his eyes catch the purples and blues decorating Akira’s pale complexion and then it hits him, staggeringly hard, that _right_ —red will be sullying that face, too. A red brought on by Goro’s own vengeance, by Goro’s own desire.

“Have you finally pieced it all together?” he asks, eerily placid; there’s nothing in the hollow of his chest anymore. It doesn’t even feel like his heart his beating. Is he a shell? Is he a statue? He doesn’t know. With how cold his body feels, he wouldn’t put it past him.

Akira, of course, doesn’t answer. What could anyone say, in a situation like this?

Stalking forward, Goro pulls the gun up and presses the silencer to Akira’s forehead. His fingers were there, once—tracing it innocently, uncaring of the consequences. Remembering how softly they’d touched that night sets his nerves on fire.

His fingers are trembling on the trigger.

_“Don’t leave me.”_

He forces himself to relax.

_“Stay.”_

He takes a deep breath.

_“Stay.”_

His ears drown the rest out.

**Author's Note:**

> happy 11/20!
> 
> my twitter is @nonnecheri if u wanna chat :3c


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